


So What Good Would Living Do Me?

by dailyapple



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Fusion, Andy | Andromache of Scythia Never Loses Immortality, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mention of Suicide, But it's the old guard so that's kinda a given, Canon-Typical Violence, Emetophobia, Everyone gets a POV, Kidnapped Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Nicky is the winter soldier in this AU and Joe is sad, Not Beta Read, Psychological Torture, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Temporary Character Death, Torture, as long as you enjoy convoluted fight scenes and angst, the hurt/comfort will be there I promise, the team as a family, you don't have to be familiar with marvel to enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dailyapple/pseuds/dailyapple
Summary: With a watery smile, Joe told her about the crusades and their many happy years together. He spoke of his Nicky’s kindness, his spirit. As his voice trailed off, Andy stepped in to explain the ‘44 mission, the Alps, the train, the explosion, the twisted sword they found in the rubble. Booker sat quietly. They were leaving out a few parts, he knew. Joe wading through the snow and ash for days, losing thirteen fingers and succumbing to hypothermia five times before they could finally tear his tired body away from the wreckage. Joe’s despair, anger, and grief. The years Andy and Booker spent occasionally checking up on Joe as he made his pilgrimage: Jeaureslum, Genoa, Tunis, Hanoi, Paris, Cuba, San Francisco, Malta. They didn’t tell Nile that the longsword Joe carries on his hip was reforged by Italian blacksmiths in the ‘70s.The team believes they lost Nicky over 70 years ago, but Nile’s dreams tell a different story.-(A Captain America: The Winter Soldier au because apparently I have a soft spot for snipers who just won't die.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 85
Kudos: 325





	1. Boys Workin' on Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is from the Beach Boys' _God Only Knows_ and the chapter titles are from Hozier's _Work Song._
> 
> I took some liberties when figuring out some timeline/location issues, so if you see something in this fic that contradicts the movie then no you didn't lol
> 
> I'll just go ahead and give a standing warning for all future chapters for somewhat graphic violence, references to physical and psychological torture, brief mentions of suicide, and some self-hate talk during certain characters' narrations. 
> 
> I took two years of French and retained almost none of it. I tried my best in doing research for any languages used here, but if you see any translation issues please let me know! Translations are in the end notes, but there really isn't too much translating at all.
> 
> Also tagging these two fandoms is a challenge, so please let me know if I need to add any tags!

Despite the heavy sedatives flowing through his veins, the Asset wakes up with a violent gasp. He scrambles to grab at his neck, but the restraints on his arms prevent him from moving far. One moment, he’s somewhere hot with his neck slit open- _dirt floor, clay walls_ he remembers- and then just as suddenly he’s cold again with a thin blanket covering his legs. He stares up at the bright fluorescents, his muscles coiled tight and breaths coming out in ragged little huffs. The Asset tells himself there is no real threat, but his heartbeat still pounds in his head.

Dr. Valburg ambles over to the table he’s strapped to, cooing something meant to be calming by his side. After checking the Asset’s vitals with a confused grunt, the doctor fiddles with the IV bag. Warmth envelops the Asset once again.

As he’s lulled back into unconsciousness, he nonsensically thinks to himself _she needs us_. The Asset is not sure what that means.

\----

Several decades ago, they put a rifle in the Asset’s hands for the first time. The gun felt like an extension of his body, like they were one unified piece of weaponry. Shooting was one of the only things that felt _right_ in the beginning, so if they told him to shoot, he shot. His handlers were very pleased with his performance. He was accurate, focused, and observant. Like most forms of fighting, languages, and medicine, none of these skills had to be taught to him.

Once he started behaving, his handlers learned they could leave him in position for hours at a time. He would not move, his world narrowing down to a single target. It was then the Asset learned about one of his own favorite tricks: he is very good at staying still. If the Asset wants, he can stay so still others think he’s out cold, or forget he’s there entirely. It’s allowed him to listen in on many conversations over the years, even if he’s forgotten most of them. They’ve never told him _listening_ is not allowed, so as he wakes up, still groggy from the extra morphine, he stays still and he listens.

“You know he’s going to come back in one piece.” _Keane_.

“I was told our lab would have access to the subject for an entire month after your last job. Many of the experiments we’ve planned are time-sensitive, and I’ve already missed out on valuable research time-” Dr. Kozak sounds angry. The Asset tenses instinctively. She’s new to the lab, but he’s already learned that everything hurts more when she’s angry.

“Listen, if everything goes to plan you’ll have enough research time to win all the Nobel Prizes you want. You’ll get both a man _and_ woman test subject, we’ll get another _him_ , and nobody has to share anymore. Win-win.”

“I still haven’t finished my discussions with Merrick about that. All of our current research is still based on _his_ specific DNA-”

“We can divvy up the winnings later. Have him ready in an hour, doctor.”

Keane punctuates his exit by slamming the door shut. The Asset listens to Dr. Kozak’s quiet footsteps as she grumbles about the lab. She walks to his side, sliding a metal cart behind her. She pulls his IVs out before picking something up off the cart.

It hurts when she cuts into his chest, but at least he dies quickly this time.


	2. To Face the Burning Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker is an idiot.

Sebastian le Livre is an idiot. He’s known this for a while, but the past few days have only proved it. 

It was nice seeing his family again, of course. Falling back into a routine with them had been almost too easy. Even with all the grief they carried, they still made jokes, still teased each other, and still trusted one another completely. Despite the gaping person-shaped hole in their little family, despite the chunk of their heart that had been carved away, Booker hadn’t felt less lonely in a long time. He loved Andy and Joe. He had hoped they would understand the choices he made.

Everything was going well until they dreamt of Nile. Booker tried to make them stick to the plan- and they almost did- but Joe spoke up. He did his best impression of Nicky, or maybe of a younger Joe, and argued that none of them should be alone, especially not in the beginning. Booker wanted to argue that Joe wouldn’t even know what it was like, but he’s an idiot, not an asshole. So Andy went looking for their mystery woman while Joe and Booker went ahead to the safe house in Goussainville. Booker sent Copley an update, but didn't explain why Andy would be late. It was fine, he and Copley had left some room for error.

But Nile was so young. She was sharp and curious and asked so many _questions._ Booker thought maybe he could keep her away from it all, shield her from their grief and gift her with a way out of this mess. She wouldn't have to live as an immortal for long.

But of course, Nile had dreams too. Booker tried to reassure her, knowing Joe and Andy would be too drained, the subject too sore, to be of much help. He turned on a light and told Nile it was okay, it was normal, no need to apologize. He tried explaining that he still had dreams about the bottom of the ocean too. 

“There wasn’t any ocean,” she said, rubbing tired eyes with her fists. So it was a normal nightmare. Andy sighed with bitter relief. Joe had already rolled over to fall back asleep. There was no need to tell her about Quynh just yet. “But there was a man.”

“Yeah, what did he look like?” Andy chuckled from the chair.

Nile shook her head and tucked her legs underneath her. “I used to just see flashes, but he was so vivid this time. White guy, brown hair, big nose.” As she talked, Joe quickly sat up and grabbed a discarded sketchbook off the nightstand. Nile tracked his movements, but Booker and Andy could only stare at her.

“Is he one of us? There were others too, but-”

Ripping out a page of the book, Joe crossed the short distance between their cots and knelt down in front of her. On his knees, he pressed a piece of paper into her hands. “Nile, please. Was this that man? You have to be sure.”

The look on Nile’s face as she looked down at the sketch told Joe what he needed to know. “That’s him. He just looked-” Nile bit her tongue.

“Looked what?” Joe’s voice was thin, breathless. 

Nile swallowed and gestured down to the drawing. “He just seems... Different here, I guess. And he had longer hair, in the dream. But yeah, that’s the guy.” 

"Nicolo, _my moon,_ " Joe whispered. His expression was heartbreaking, full of hope, sadness, and fear all at once. Booker had to look at Andy instead. She stood just inside the room, looking pale with dread.

They spent the next hour trying to pull every shred of information out of Nile’s dream. He’s with other men, at least 4, maybe more. They’re wearing black. They have weapons, guns. _“Did Nicky have a weapon?” “I don’t know. I didn’t see.” “Mio dio.”_ They were in some sort of large vehicle, maybe a van or small plane. She couldn’t pick up any of his emotions. Someone was speaking on a radio. Spanish? French? She wasn’t sure, it was too muffled.

Once they finished their interrogation of Nile, there was nothing else to do but tell her the story of Nicolò di Genova, their Nicky. 

With a watery smile, Joe told her about the crusades and their many happy years together. He spoke of his kindness, his spirit. As his voice trailed off, Andy stepped in to explain the ‘44 mission, the Alps, the train, the explosion, the twisted sword they found in the rubble. Booker sat quietly. They were leaving out a few parts, he knew. Joe wading through the snow and ash for days, losing thirteen fingers and succumbing to hypothermia five times before they could finally tear his tired body away from the wreckage. Joe’s despair, anger, and grief. The years Andy and Booker spent occasionally checking up on Joe as he made his pilgrimage: Jerusalem, Genoa, Tunis, Hanoi, Paris, Cuba, San Francisco, Malta. They didn’t tell Nile that the longsword Joe carries on his hip was reforged by Italian blacksmiths in the ‘70s.

Nile, still shaken, said she would try to get them more information the next time she dreamt of him. All they could do was wait.

"What did you mean by _the bottom of the ocean_?" Nile asked Booker as Andy moved to sit on Joe's cot beside him.

"Sometimes I have bad dreams," he told her, averting his gaze. Maybe that's all they are. Maybe Quynh is finally dead for good. Maybe all that's left are faded, leftover nightmares. "It's nothing."

Now, Booker lays still as death on top of his sleeping bag and tries to decide what to do next.

Eventually, Nile falls back asleep, clearly exhausted by the long day. Andy sleeps too, leaning her head against Joe's thigh, a comforting hand placed on his knee. Joe has always been a very tactile person, needing a grounding touch here or there to stay sane. After Nicky died, Booker and Andy learned to fill in for Nicky where they can.

Nicky never really died, Booker reminds himself. _Nicky's alive._ Right now. Shit.

Instead of trying to sleep, Joe stays hunched over in the bed, drawing in his sketchbook. He’s muttering to himself in the archaic blend of Ligurian and Arabic only he and Nicky knew. Joe doesn’t look up as Booker slips out of the room. He stumbles out the front door and through the yard, finding a crumbling gravestone at the edge of the woods to lean on. 

Booker feels sick. He can no longer convince himself that Joe would want this. Not with Nicky out there, still _alive_. Andy wouldn’t want it either. Not with Nile giving them more leads on Nicky in one night than Booker could give her on Quynh in two-hundred years. He needs to come clean and they need to find Nicky. But first, he has to stop his terrible mistake before it’s too late.

He pulls out his phone and calls Copley until the man answers.

“Sebastian?” It does not sound like Copley was asleep.

“I’ve changed my mind. The plan’s off- or delayed. Just- I’m calling it off. We’re not doing this now.” Booker rushes the words out all at once. 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the call. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Sebastian. I’ll contact my team, and we won’t move forward until you’re ready. Is that alright?”

Booker knows he’s lying. He’s not sure how he knows, but the dread growing within him begins to multiply rapidly until he’s sure he’s going to puke. He’s an idiot.

“Alright. Yeah. I’m glad you understand. I’ll, uh, I’ll keep you updated. _Merci_.”

He hangs up on Copley, smashes his second burner phone of the day against the ground, and rushes back into the church. Everyone but Joe is still asleep. Booker must look crazed because when Joe finally looks up from his sketchbook, his brows are drawn together in concern. 

“Are you alright, brother?” Joe whispers. 

Oh. Booker really is an _idiot_.

“We need to leave.”

“What?” 

Booker begins stuffing his items back into his backpack. “We need to get out of here.” 

Joe, trusting Booker because he doesn’t know that he shouldn’t, wakes up Andy with a touch to the forehead. Booker wakes Nile up with a gentle shake.

“We have to leave. It’s not safe here.”

Andy is stuffing her own bag now. Joe is still sitting, sketchbook laid out in his lap. 

“What’s happening?” Nile asks, following the others’ lead and grabbing her things. She’s a _baby_ and Booker is an _idiot._

“It’s not safe here, there are people who know where we are.”

“How, Book?” Andy’s ready to go now, helping Joe pack his things. He finally gets up to grab the sheathed longsword leaning against the bed frame.

“I can explain later, we just need to get on the road. Ditch the car, leave the country.” 

“Nile said the men in the van were speaking French.”

That’s not what Nile said, but Booker doesn’t have time to point that out. “They speak French in other places, Joe. We’ll find him, but only if we go. _Now_.” 

With another plane rattling the ground beneath them, they leave the church and pile into the car. Booker peels out of the long drive and speeds toward the nearest highway, praying a crowded location scares Copley’s team away. Andy’s clutching a pistol in her hands, studying the dim country road out in front of them.

“Book, tell me what’s going on.”

Booker doesn’t know how to. How does he explain this to them? It all sounded better in his head, better when he and Copley were talking, better before Nicky was alive and Nile died. But now he just feels like an idiot. An idiot who didn’t see what he had right in front of him, and idiot who didn't _think_.

“I’m an idiot.”

“ _Explain_ , Sebastian.”

“South Sudan, that was my fault. Copley and I, we planned that.” The car is silent except for the roar of the engine, so Booker keeps going. “He found me a while after that job for the CIA. He told me he knew people, people that could help us. They could use our abilities to save people and give us- they could discover how we keep _living-_ and they could find a way how to end it.”

“What does that _mean?_ ”

“Copley shared the video of us healing with some _scientist_.” He gestures with one hand, the other gripping the steering wheel tight. “Once that was done, I was supposed to lead them to the safe house so they could retrieve us. He was going to take us to doctors doing research. He said they could use our gifts to end disease and maybe find us a way out. I was an idiot.” 

Andy incredulously asks, “You believed him?”

At the same time Joe says, _“_ You did not think to ask for our opinion on your _plan_?”

“After Nicky, and Quynh, and Jea- Joe, you asked me to help _kill_ _you_ in ‘45. How was I supposed to know that-” 

“ _Eat shit,_ ” Joe spits in Booker's native tongue, just so he knows for sure he understands him. 

_That's fair_ , Booker thinks.

Andy is now silent next to him. Nile hasn’t said a word. He wants to tell her they’re not usually like this, it's been a rough few decades.

“Andy, I’m sorry. _Je suis navré. Laisse moi réparer ça_.”

“Just get us out of here.” She rubs at the bridge of her nose, eyes screwed shut. 

“I will. I promise. _Juré devant Dieu_ , I’m going to fix this-” Booker’s last words are cut off short as a bullet pierces the windshield and lands right between his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Je suis navré. Laisse moi réparer ça." = I am so sorry (but like big time "I feel cut open/wounded" type of sorry). Let me fix this.  
> "Je juré devant Dieu, I’m going to fix this-" = I swear to God, I'm going to fix this-


	3. When My Baby Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who the hell is Nicky?

Keane and the Asset aren’t posted on the brick overpass for long before the Asset sees the car and takes his shot. A thin fog covers the landscape of silhouettes, the sun just barely brushing the horizon. The small bridge they’ve chosen runs over an unlit country road lined with trees. The lights from a small village glow dimly in the distance. It’s not an ideal location, but after Copley’s phone call, plans changed quickly. At least an ambush on an open road has fewer variables than an ambush in an uncleared building.

After he shoots their driver, they watch the car careen off the road and into a large tree with a crunch. Keane radios his men, and they begin to move in from the fields on either side of the road like they planned.

The Asset watches through his scope as three dark bodies eventually climb out of the crushed car. The woman vaults over the hood to work on prying open a rear door. Even though they’re clearly outnumbered by the approaching forces, the two men flank the car and begin shooting.

Keane told the Asset extreme force against the targets is not only encouraged on this mission, but necessary. _“They can't die either, at least not for long.”_ Before they left London, Keane showed him the video of their targets. They fight expertly, switching between guns and blades with masterful ease. They’re too good for the team to take on up close like Copley and Keane planned, but that’s not the Asset’s call, so he said nothing.

Although it was hard to make out their faces amid the action and shadows, they seemed vaguely familiar. He wonders for a single fleeting moment if that has anything to do with the hard mask they’ve fit around his mouth and nose that’s usually reserved for repeat jobs or more intense fire-fights. He banishes the thought as soon as he has it. 

“ _We might have to put them down a few times to get them in the van. Can you handle that, kid?”_ Keane calls him ‘kid’ even though the Asset remembers a time when the man had no gray in his hair. It’s degrading and irritating, intentionally so, but the Asset never says anything. At least Keane is better than Rumlow.

He’s not sure what the other soldiers have been told about their targets, but they follow Keane’s orders and return fire on the two men. Despite their kevlar and heavy weaponry, Keane’s men are quickly thinned out by the targets. Keane eventually hands the Asset another gun, gives him a signal, and turns to climb into the armored van they arrived in. 

The Asset pulls up his black hood and leaps down from the bridge, giving only a brief moment for his knees and ankles to heal before he moves in. The remaining soldiers part around him as he approaches the men, gun drawn. Although their driver gets in one good shot to the Asset’s thigh, he’s ultimately easy to kill again. One shot in the chest and he’s down with a wet gurgle that sounds almost like a French curse. If his recovery time is anything like his own, he’ll be up soon. So he turns to the other man.

Even in the faint light, the Asset can’t help but look into the man’s familiar, dark-brown eyes. No, those eyes were more than just _familiar._ They were like home, which was _wrong_ because the Asset doesn't have a home. A cold shiver runs up his spine, the voice inside of him screaming _something’s wrong here_. The Asset quickly pushes those feelings down like he’s practiced, but when he shoots the man in the shoulder instead of the head as he planned, he hesitates again. He’s too slow with the second shot. The man shoots the Asset right in the neck.

\----

When the Asset jerks awake, he’s lying face down on the pavement with the dark-eyed man’s back to him. The French man he killed before is up again too, shooting at Keane’s men with one of the Asset’s own guns. He checks for the smaller gun strapped to his chest, but it’s also missing. The French man’s weapon is discarded near the Asset’s head, presumably empty. 

The dark-eyed man is using a longsword now. The Asset noticed the scabbard on his hip in Copley’s video, but the man never used it. He’s obviously more experienced with the shorter scimitar, but he still manages to slice through two men before the Asset can get his feet underneath him. The Asset grabs the knife strapped to his calf. He readies to cut the man’s neck, but he turns too quickly, swinging the sword downwards as the Asset leaps away. 

The man moves forward without pause, spinning his sword through the air effortlessly. The Asset ducks under it and slices at the man’s stomach. Blood seeps out of the rip in the man’s shirt, but by the time the Asset turns on him again, the bleeding has already stopped. The Asset leans back from another twisting arc of the blade and aims to slash at the man’s bicep. The man takes his own swing, their weapons colliding. The serrated edge of the Asset’s knife grinds down the man’s blade until it catches at the top of the sword's gold hilt. His sword is dangerously close to the Asset’s neck. The man uses his leverage to push the Asset backward until the entire length of his back slams against the side of the car.

They’re pressed together now. The Asset’s hood has fallen down at some point, and for the first time, the man hesitates. The Asset quickly twists away and allows the man to slam against the car with his own force. Before the man can fully turn around, the Asset surges forward. He throws the man back against the car and wraps his hands around his throat, knife forgotten on the ground.

Although he uses one hand to pry at the Asset’s crushing fingers, the man still does not let go of the longsword. The Asset leans forward and uses his knee to bash the man’s fist against the car door. The weapon finally drops from his broken grip and clanks against the asphalt. Before the Asset can restore his balance, he’s kneed in the chest. He lets go of the man’s neck and stumbles back, wheezing in air.

The man crouches down to recover his sword, purple bruises already fading from his neck and bones in his hand shifting back into place. With his own ribs still healing, the Asset slips a small throwing knife out from a sheath on his hip. He launches it through the air, burying it deep into the man’s hand. He lets out a strangled cry before yanking the knife out. The asset grabs his own weapon from where it’s been discarded.

They scramble, now both armed with just bloody knives. The Asset moves quickly to block his punches and dodge the knife’s sharp edge, but the man moves just as fast. His fist hammers into the Asset’s chest, and he nicks the man’s neck in return. The Asset jabs a fist into his side, and the man clips his jaw with a well-timed blow. 

The Asset knows this will not end well for him. Out of his peripheral, the French man has been making short work of the last of Keane’s men. The Asset won’t be able to take both of them without some new weaponry. There’s a gun just a few feet behind the man, laying in the loose grasp of a dead soldier. As the man gears back to slice at him, the Asset bolts under his arm. 

But he’s too slow. The man grabs the Asset across the chest just as he’s got his fingers around the gun’s grip. The man flips him backward. The Asset slams into the asphalt, bracing his neck to avoid having his spine broken. He doesn’t die, but the Asset lays in a heap for a moment, regaining his breath as his shoulder heals. The man begins walking away from him, thinking him finally dead. 

The Asset felt the mask slip off his face, but he doesn’t care. Keane can complain about equipment loss later. He stands, reaching for his last knife strapped to his thigh.

The man turns. Instead of reacting, he just stares at the Asset. He’s got the sword back in his hands, but it's pointing down towards the ground. The man’s arms are limp, his face open. Those dark eyes look suddenly very soft, and he’s still not reacting. It’s all incredibly unnerving. _Reagisci, cuore mio_ someone else thinks inside him. That uneasy feeling creeps its way up the Asset’s spine again. It’s harder to ignore now.

“Nicky?” The man asks quietly. 

“Who the hell is Nicky?” The Asset responds without thinking, because _something’s terribly wrong with him_. His head hurts. He can hear his own heart beating. He can’t stop looking into those eyes, warm and brown like fresh coffee. In his peripheral, he sees the French one kill the last of Keane’s men before he turns towards them. For some reason, the Asset still hasn’t grabbed his knife. 

Several metallic clanks wrench the Asset out of his daze. When he looks behind him, a gasmask-clad Keane is tossing another canister on the ground and shouting. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

He does not know. _Something is wrong with him._

The French man raises his gun to shoot Keane, but the Asset blocks it with his body. There’s an awful hissing sound from the canisters. As gas begins to cloud around them, the Asset finally reaches for his knife.

Then suddenly, headlights pierce through the haze, temporarily blinding the Asset. He rushes to cover Keane again, throwing them both into the grass. A car squeals to a stop next to their gasping targets. The Asset struggles to push himself up, already choking on the noxious air. Someone from inside the car shoots at the Asset as a woman’s voice carries through the fog. 

“Get _in_.”

The French one pulls the soft-eyed man into the car and the last thing the Asset sees before Keane shoots him in the back of the head is their targets disappearing down the road.

\----

When the Asset wakes up on the floor of the armored van, Keane shoots him in the temple. 

\----

The Asset dreams about the young woman again, but this time she’s with the targets. They’re in a dark cave, far from the hot sands where he saw her last. By a small fire, the French one talks to the two women, his hands gesturing wildly and an old laptop perched in his lap. He has dried blood under his nose. Sitting against a rock on the other side of the cave is the soft-eyed man. He’s holding his face in one hand, tugging at the curls that hang in front of his forehead with the other. 

When he wakes up, the Asset thinks he knows those hands better than he knows his own, which shouldn’t be right. He thinks he should be rubbing soothing circles into that man’s back, which _definitely_ isn’t right. He realizes he’s been stripped down to his underclothes, his wrists and ankles strapped to a chair. People are arguing in the lab again. He needs to focus.

“I don’t know what happened. He’s malfunctioning. He’s hesitating. He’s not supposed to do that.” 

“Are we sure your plan didn’t simply _fail_?” Without warning, Dr. Kozak jams a thick needle into the crook of the Asset’s arm.

“He’s pulled off plenty of jobs worse than this one.”

Although the plan was indeed very bad, the Asset knows Keane is right. The Asset doesn’t fear, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question. He should have been able to finish this assignment, but these dreams, these false memories, these strange prohibited _feelings_ are getting in the way _._ He must be malfunctioning. It wouldn’t be the first time.

After killing a reporter in Athens, the Asset thought something seemed familiar. Maybe it had been the crumbling buildings in the distance, or the smell of the ocean from the apartment balcony. Maybe it had just been the rapid Russian the woman spoke before the Asset shot her in the head. He asked his handler at the time, Byrne, if his previous handler had been Russian. Instead of answering, Byrne dragged him to the doctor for unscheduled reconditioning. He didn’t remember exactly what was so familiar about Greece after that. So he learned not to mention the harmless false-memories that occasionally float to the surface. He learned not to ask questions.

He said nothing in the 80s when he recognized the Renaissance painting hanging in the penthouse of a CEO he assassinated. He said nothing in the 60s when the smell of a soldier’s _Bún ốc_ reminded him of a woman’s laugh. He said nothing when he thought he heard a familiar voice shouting over a football match in the 90s. And he didn’t say anything in Malta, even when the music and aromas drifting up from the market below made his hands shake. He missed his target that day, _twice_ , but his handler did not ask, so he said nothing.

But this feels different. If these strange dreams are to be believed, the Asset has valuable information. Maybe he shouldn’t be reconditioned right now. He opens his eyes, turning his head toward the people in the lab.

“I’ve already called our contacts from Kent Police, but I think we should start monitoring CCTV at more border-crossing points. They could already be out of France by now, but if they’re not-”

“Who are they?” The Asset interrupts. His voice is rough, the fuzzy feeling on his tongue telling him he’d been given sedatives on the way here.

"Doesn't matter," Keane answers dismissively. He turns to Dr. Valburg to ask, "Doctor, can we get him hooked up already?"

"I knew him. That man on the road. I know him."

“No, you don't. You’ve never met before last night.” Based on the way Keane bites out the words from across the lab, the Asset knows it’s not up for debate.

Mr. Merrick is here too, standing next to Keane. The Asset doesn’t see Mr. Merrick much anymore, not like he did when he was first brought to the lab. Mr. Merrick was very interested in the Asset back then, but now he just stops by for the occasional experiment. He smiles at the Asset, eyes twinkling with interest. He takes his hands out of his coat pockets and walks closer to the Asset’s chair.

“He’s right. You’ve never met these people before.” 

Because the Asset knows how much Mr. Merrick likes to talk, he presses a little more. “But I knew him.”

“No. You have no reason to know these people. They’re like you, yes, but so _different_. They’re resisting us, _our_ cause, because they’re _selfish_. They don’t want to help anyone. Not like you. You’re doing so well. Right?”

The Asset nods the best he can.

“Ah. See. You do so well for us in the lab, and in the field. I doubt no one else in scientific _history_ has done this much for the greater good.”

“Those people on the road,” the Asset swallows, “I’ve… seen them.”

“I promise you’ve never met before.” That doesn’t sound quite right, but Dr. Kozak is already moving The Asset’s head back into place. Mr. Merrick turns back to Keane, who raises a single eyebrow. The Asset knows that was a bad idea, he won’t question them again. He’s definitely getting reconditioned now. 

Copley walks into the lab just as Dr. Kozak is stretching an electrode cap over the Asset’s head. He looks for Mr. Merrick, but freezes when he sees the Asset strapped to the chair. He stares at the Asset like he’s seeing a ghost. 

“I know you told me your team was skilled, Mr. Keane. But that’s…” Copley gestures to the Asset. “He was with the others, is _one of them_ , but his trail went cold around World War Two. You _have_ him?”

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. The Asset's head hurts. Dr. Kozak tenses beside him. Keane looks furious, one hand moving to rest on the holstered gun at his side. But Mr. Merrick just smiles at Copley.

“Yes. He has honored our company with his work for nearly 10 years.”

“So you already knew they existed?”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to give you two million to find the others if I didn’t,” Mr. Merrick replies coolly.

“I don’t understand. He... came to work for you?” Copley tries looking at Mr. Merrick as he talks, but his gaze slides back to the Asset. The Asset looks back. 

“Well, most of the hard work had been done for us, but he does need some persuading every now and again.” 

Copley looks to the machine Dr. Valburg has rolled next to the Asset and laughs humorlessly. 

“Torture, you mean?” Copley shakes his head. “No. This is not what we agreed. You said they were going to be used for _science_ not-”

“Please. Don’t act so high and mighty, Mr. Copley. We bought him off the _CIA_. Not sure what they used him for or where they got him from, but I’m sure our work here is much more pleasant. Now if you don’t mind, we need you to find the others before they run too far. Mr. Keane, do you have those pictures I asked for?”

\---

The next time the Asset sees those soft-brown eyes, a wave of electricity rocks his body. He bites clean through his tongue. Dr. Kozak places it in a labeled bag, and Dr. Valburg wipes the blood off his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reagisci, cuore mio_ = react/fight back, my heart
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving the nice messages, they really mean a lot to me :)


	4. When My Time Comes Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy doesn’t know how they will fix it, just that they have to.

Nile wakes up crying. Andy, who had insisted she take the first watch shift, is by her side in seconds. Nile’s mostly silent except for the small choked-off sound she made when she first wakes up. Her whole body is taut. 

“More bad dreams?” Andy whispers. She tries not to wake the others, but it’s too late. Joe is sitting up straight, one hand clutching the longsword. Andy doesn’t think he was sleeping much anyway. 

Nile sits up slowly and nods. 

“Nicky?” Joe whispers.

Nile nods again but doesn’t meet Joe’s eyes. _Shit_. Booker is up now, bleary-eyed and digging around in his jacket for a flask.

“Do you... want to talk about it?” Andy asks eventually. Nile doesn’t look like she does, but all three of them are staring at her expectantly, desperate for any more information. She takes a deep breath and wipes the tears off her cheeks.

“I saw him. He was in some sort of facility... It looked almost medical. There were people with him. One was a doctor, I think. They were-” She closes her eyes and rubs the back of her neck. “... hurting him. It felt like electric shocks.”

Joe swears under his breath, his hands reaching up to grab at his hair again.

Nile whispers, “I could feel his pain. He’s so confused. And tired.”

“Did you see anything else, Nile?”

Nile squeezes her eyes tighter together, then quickly opens them. “Yeah. _Yeah_. The doctor had some symbol on her lab coat, I think. It was definitely blue, um, three triangles, maybe.”

Booker reaches into his pack for his laptop. “I’m on it.” 

Joe is mumbling under his breath in something that might have been Italian once. Andy thinks she sees blood on his scalp from where he’s pulling at his hair. He looks too much like he did those first few months after the Alps mission. They’re not going to let him fall to pieces again, not when Nile and Nicky need them to be strong. She moves over to him slowly, places a gentle hand on his knee like she did the other night. 

“We’ll find him again. We’ll fix whatever has happened to him.”

“He doesn’t even know who he is.”

“We’ll fix that.” 

Andy doesn’t know how they will fix it, just that they have to. 

She didn’t see him, too busy pulling Nile’s limp body out of the car before rushing them toward the village to nab a getaway car. Booker pulled a nearly unconscious Joe into the car and, still choking on the gas in his lungs, told them that Nicky was with those men. Nicky had shot at them. Nicky was trying to kill them. Nicky didn’t _remember_ them.

Andy drove, switching cars twice, until they reached the abandoned mine in Val d'Argent. During a car swap near Sens, Joe insisted that they needed to go _back_ and Booker had to physically force him into the back seat. Once they reached the cave, the two men erupted into an explosive argument. Booker was trying to explain himself, and Joe was hurling words around like _traitor_ and _pathetic_. Andy didn’t really want to speak to Booker herself, so she and Nile stepped outside the cave to talk. 

_“Is he going to be okay?”_

_“Who, Joe?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Eventually.”_

_Nile stares into the distance, and Andy can practically hear the gears turning in her young head. “Booker betrayed you.”_

_"Yeah,” Andy chuckles half-heartedly, “That’s new.”_

_“But he’s, like, your brother. Right? ”_

_“Yeah. Like I said, it’s new.”_

When they returned, the two men were sitting as far away from each other as possible. Joe had broken Booker’s nose, which probably made them both feel a little better. However, having to sleep without any more information on Copley or Nicky didn’t make _anyone_ feel better. 

“I haven’t killed him since the 12th century.” Joe removes one hand from his hair and rests it on his chest, right over the lonely ring on a small silver chain he keeps tucked safely under his shirt. She squeezes his knee to resist touching her own necklace. Their little family is a mess, always dripping guilt all over the place. _Misery loves company,_ Booker had said. But if that was true, why take Quynh away? Why take Nicky?

“You didn’t know.” 

“I should have recognized him. I could draw those eyes from _memory_ , but I didn’t _see_.” 

Andy doesn’t know how to respond to that, but she doesn’t have to. Booker speaks up from across the cave.

“Hey Boss, I’ve got something.” 

Joe lets out a shaky breath and gives Andy a short nod. With that permission, she crosses the cave and sits where Booker and Nile have huddled around the computer. Booker still has that green look about him, like he might vomit on her shoes at any second. He angles the laptop away from Nile so Andy can see its screen. He shows her a symbol that looks just like Nile described. Andy would rarely describe her heart as _soaring_ , but it does in that moment. It’s nice to have such obvious leads for once.

“Merrick Pharmaceuticals. It's got the logo Nile saw,” Booker clears his throat and shifts in his seat, “and it’s the company Copley wanted to work with.”

“How much do you know about them?”

“Not… much. Copley trusted them. I trusted Copley. That was enough for me at the time.”

“Okay,” Andy breathes in deeply through her nose. They all agreed to finish _that_ conversation another time. _Nicky first._ “Where do we find them?”

“Their headquarters are in London, their research labs too by the looks of it. Nile saw a lab coat with their symbol, so that’s probably where Nicky is. Or at least, it’s a good start.”

“Then that’s where we go. We go and we get Nicky. Even if he’s not there, these people know about us. We need to end this, destroy all their evidence. Or they’ll never stop coming for us.”

“What, we just storm the place and kill everyone there?” Nile asks. 

“If that’s what it takes.”

Nile looks at Booker, expecting to see her apprehension mirrored on his face. She finds none. Instead, he says, “We’ll need more firepower. I’ll start getting some gear together. I think our Dunkerque contact is still good.”

“I’ll call them,” She reaches her hand out to take one of Booker’s phones. “You work on finding everything you can about that building. _Everything_. I want blueprints, Booker.” It wasn’t a request, but Booker knew she was giving him an opportunity to prove himself. He went straight to work.

“What should I do?” Joe’s tightening his boot laces like they’re leaving for battle now.

“Rest. We’ll need it,” Andy replies as she begins walking towards the mine’s exit. Joe stands up and grabs her wrist as she passes him. He’s shaking his head, and Andy recognizes that restless look. Even after centuries, she still feels it too.

“No. No, I need to do something.”

“Booker needs to find more information before we make any plans. I don’t want to go in there blind, not when there could be another army there waiting for us.”

“You trust him to do that?” Joe whispers.

“I think right now, we have to.”

Joe lets go of her wrist. “Okay. But once Nicky is home-”

“I know. Booker fucked up, Joe. We’ll talk about it. _Together_.”

Joe nods. She makes her way out of the cave, giving another brief look over her shoulder. Joe looks so lonely standing there by himself. Seventy years later, and she’s still not used to seeing him alone. Wherever Joe was, Nicky was there. From the beginning. 

A few decades after the witch trials, Nicky had admitted he felt the same way when he looked at her. Andy and Quynh, Nicky had never seen one without the other. Andy had been furious with him at the time, but after the Alps, after seeing the empty space Joe still leaves in his bed, she understood what he was trying to say. Nicky didn’t want to let Andy forget that they weren’t meant to be alone. He was right, often was- _is-_ but it was easier to pretend this was how it was meant to be. It was easier to pretend being miserable and lonely was normal, but it wasn’t. No one was meant to feel like this for this long. She wishes she had figured that out sooner, before they found Booker, before they lost someone else.

She schedules a meeting with their contact in Dunkirk and arranges for a ferry to take them across the channel tomorrow. When she’s finished, she leans against the hood of the car and takes a deep breath. Tomorrow, they’ll get Nicky back. And after that, maybe they can rest, find a nice house to hunker down in for a while. They can start teaching Nile some new languages, properly welcome her into the family, and maybe they can take another look at the ocean floor.

\---

Booker found a decent amount of information about Merrick headquarters. Joe tried not to look impressed when he looked over the blueprints. 

They devised a plan. They’ll enter tomorrow night when most of the day workers are gone. They’ll take out all the security they need to and find the labs. If Nicky’s there, they’ll grab him. If not, they’ll interrogate and destroy everything in the lab before they leave. Every filing cabinet and computer they find along the way is fair game for destruction too. Andy’s not sure they’ll get everything, but if they follow the path they’ve planned through the building, they should be in and out before they raise too many alarms. They’ll be out of London by morning. 

That was the plan anyway.

\---

When they arrived at the port in Dunkirk around lunchtime, Joe declared they needed food and invited Nile to follow him. They haven’t been gone long, but Andy still worries. She fiddles with the car keys as she watches Booker and a stout man named Hugo discuss the price of grenades in hurried French. Hugo is trying to convince Booker that he needs more than he asked for, and eventually Booker just hands Hugo a wad of cash to shut him up.

Nile and Joe come back from a corner store with a plastic bag full of food. Even from a distance, she can hear Joe laughing at something Nile says, and Andy can’t help but smile. Nile is an easy addition to the team. She’s smart, strong, and a little too brave for her own good- but she might just be the bit of youth they need. As the pair approach, Joe takes off his sunglasses to reveal red-rimmed eyes. Nile nods to Andy and goes to help Booker unload a few boxes off of Hugo’s truck, briefly leaving her alone with Joe.

“I asked about her family,” he says from Andy’s side. He digs a candy bar out from the bag and hands it to her. _Smart man._ “She still wants to go back to them.”

“Yeah? You tell her about how well that turned out for Booker?”

“That’s his story to tell. I had my own to share.”

Andy is just about to ask _which stories_ , but Booker motions for them to come over. They make quick work of packing the boot of the car full of new gear and weapons. When they finally get back on the road, Joe starts passing out the junk food he and Nile picked out. Andy has never been one to complain about the marvel that is processed foods, but she can almost hear Nicky complaining about the nonexistent nutritional value of Cheetos. Nicky always kept them well fed. Booker thought it was an _Italian_ thing, but Joe and Andy knew it was _starved to death a few too many times_ thing. Andy finds herself smiling again, thinking of the team being back together after tonight. Not quite whole again, but less broken than before.

She briefly hopes that they’ll go right back to bickering and laughing and driving each other wild. But she can’t forget Booker’s description of a dead-eyed Nicky trying his hardest to strangle Joe.

\---

While on the ferry to Dover, they go over the plan again. Booker brings up the possibility that Nicky won’t come with them willingly. Joe has been silent for some time, staring out the window towards land.

“He will,” is all he says.

\---

After arriving in Dover, they unpack the gear from the car while Booker works on hot-wiring a beat-up van they found parked in an alley. As Andy hands Nile one of the guns, she voices reservations. There’s sudden conviction in her voice, like she’s been waiting to say something for hours but just now found the courage.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Andy resists rolling her eyes. She saw Nile fight on the plane. She's good. She might be young, but this isn’t a job that requires a millennium of experience. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I mean I’m _not_ doing this,” Nile says with cool determination. Andy would love to admire the kid’s bravery, but this just _really_ isn’t the time.

“You’re one of us now. We would do the same for you.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“None of us had a choice. There isn’t a choice-”

Joe interrupts, speaking up for the first time since the ferry. “Andy, we’re walking right into the arms of the people trying to capture us. If we fail, there’s no telling what will happen to us. If Nile wants to see her family again, she needs to leave.” 

“She could help us-”

“Yeah, but her dreams won’t help us after they meet. It’s okay. This is our mistake to fix, not hers.” He turns and claps his hand on Nile’s shoulder. He squeezes it gently, flashing her a warm smile. “We’ll find you again through Nicky’s dreams, yes?”

“Fine,” Andy tries not to look bothered, but she doesn’t think she can argue with Joe about this. “You can take the car, we’ll take the van.”

“Thank you, Andy."

Once everything’s been transferred to the van, they all prepare to say their short goodbyes. Andy isn’t sure what to say, especially when Joe reaches back into the van and hands Nicky’s longsword to Nile.

“Take this.”

Nile looks just as shocked as Andy and Booker. “No I- But that’s Nicky’s, isn’t it?”

“He’ll need it once he’s home again. And if anything happens to us, it would be nice to know it is safe.”

Nile obviously hates the implications of that statement. Andy does too. Nile wraps her fingers carefully around the leather sheath. She looks between the three of them, worry etched all over her face. “Are you guys going to be okay?”

Because she has to, Andy nods. “Always.”


	5. Lay Me Gently in the Cold Dark Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They keep moving forward.

Booker has been tortured many times before. He’s been branded, waterboarded, lashed, and even had teeth pulled from his head. He thinks being forced to wait in the van could be added to that list. They can’t do anything before nightfall, and without Nile there to act as a buffer, the tense energy they’ve adopted since Gousinville only intensifies in the metal shell. Joe counts his rounds compulsively, the hilt of his scimitar bouncing against his restless knee. Andy picks at her nails and fiddles with the radio a couple of times, never sticking to a station for long. He hopes the anxious tension is the result of Nicky’s potential proximity, and prays it’s not just because of his stupid decisions. Booker tries to think of what to say, but he just ends up looking out the window silently with his head resting against the seat.

He considers calling Copley, demanding to know if he knew about Nicky the whole time. Silent fury builds in his gut as he remembers the night he told Copley about Nicky’s death. They were sitting in a small bar, half-empty pints of beer between them. Copley had asked if the others felt the same way about their immortality. Booker thought so. He wasn’t there for the loss of Quynh, but it was clear Andy still struggled with guilt and grief. Once they’d become well acquainted, Booker could see it written on her face, in her tight shoulders, in her clipped words. He knew the others felt her loss too. Nicky was nearly in tears every time he was forced to talk about her, and Joe’s voice always broke with a shared sorrow. He thought he knew the extent of their grief, but then they lost Nicky.

Booker liked Nicky, always had. His first night with the group, Nicky had pressed a cup of warm broth into his hand. His calm explanations made everything make just a little bit more sense in the moment, even if Booker later rejected them. Nicky was a solid presence, a level head, a firm foundation. He had the ability to steady Booker when he was on the brink or put him in his place when he was acting foolishly. He was a good friend. A brother.

When he was ripped violently from their arms, he saw first-hand how deeply they could grieve. In the terrible weeks after the Alps mission, Joe would alternate sleeping in Andy and Booker’s bed. He'd cling to them and shake for hours, inconsolable and distant. They ended up pushing all the creaky cots together, supporting him as he cried, as they cried with him. Booker rubbed his brother’s back like he’d seen Nicky do, like Nicky had done a couple of times to Booker himself. It was the only thing he could think to do.

When he tried to explain all the ways Joe changed after that, he started crying into his beer. That was the second time he’d cried in front of Copley. The first had been when Copley told him about his wife, and in-turn Booker revealed how he ached with grief over his own wife and sons. Each time, Copley gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, telling him he understood and that he wanted to help. To think that Copley knew the entire time that they could have their Nicky back- to think Booker's foolish plan nearly kept Nicky from them- well, Booker may not know as many ways to kill as Andy does, but he could get creative when he wanted to. 

His gaze drifts up to the top of the tower, new and ugly on the skyline. At that moment, he’s sure of three things. They’ll get Nicky back. They’ll make his captor’s pay. Booker will accept any punishment he’s given when it's all over.

When the passing cars have thinned and the streets are nearly empty under the night sky, they finally gear up before leaving the van on a nearby corner. They’re damn lucky no one spots them stalking down back alleyways with several weapons and explosives strapped to them. They approach the towering building from the back, where loading docks and dumpsters offer plenty of cover. There’s one guard standing at the back entrance, a small handgun on his hip. Booker chucks a discarded bottle into the shadows. The man spooks and turns toward the sound of shattered glass. Andy rounds on him from the other direction, snapping his neck quickly and efficiently. It’s an old trick, but it works. She slips an ID card off the guard’s body and holds it up triumphantly between two fingers. With one swipe, the door opens soundlessly.

Once they’re in the building, they make use of the escape stairwells he mapped out earlier. They climb up with silenced-weapons drawn, their footsteps echoing off the steel and cement. Booker knows he needs to focus, but can’t ignore the way Joe keeps behind the group, letting him and Andy take the lead. Joe hasn’t let him out of his sight since they arrived. His stomach curdles when faced with the proof that he’s lost a piece of Joe’s trust, likely for a long time. Joe has never let his heart be hardened by petty grudges, but the man always remembers who’s hurt the ones he loves. Booker really never intended to end up on that list. 

When they reach the tenth floor, he tells the others they need to make their way to another wing of the building. Andy opens the heavy door and peers around the corner, eventually motioning them forward. They wind their way through the garishly modern corridors of an open office. Motion-activated lights flicker on as they pass rows of empty cubicles. The lights of other buildings in the distance watch them through the wide windows like eerie little eyes, but they cross the floor and enter another stairwell without incident.

Booker’s thighs burn and his arms are starting to cramp from holding his gun against his shoulder, but he ignores them both. He counts the numbers on the doors as they pass until he finds the one leading to the research floor, marked by an innocuous 35. He signals Andy to stop, gesturing with his head toward the door.

When Andy cracks it open, she immediately fires a single round into the hallway. Booker hears a security guard fall to the ground with a heavy thud. As the men push past the door, Andy props the body up behind a pillar, out of sight to anyone coming from the other direction. The radio attached to his shoulder crackles with toneless voices. Booker removes it, tucking the radio into his pants.

“We need to move fast,” Andy whispers.

Both men give her a nod of understanding.

The entire floor is bright with fluorescents and set up in a frustrating maze. Booker jogs through the corridors he’s memorized, leading them around a couple of sharp corners. Other than some computers, a few large instruments, and various metal tables lined with pipettes, beakers, and microscopes, the floor is empty. Booker takes a few small explosives off his belt and tosses them onto the tables. As Joe and Andy probe around a couple of corners, Booker checks that a small red light blinks on before slipping the detonator back into his pocket.

They hurry towards a large door and miraculously key it open with the first guard’s ID. They enter the lab, each holding their breath. There are four examination tables and a few monitoring devices on one side of the room, and a wall lined with shelves and cabinets on the other. Booker’s knees go a little weak when he sees the restraints attached to the tables. They’re clearly not made for willing patients. One has a smear of blood near the head, and a half-used IV bag hangs on a pole near-by. Nicky is nowhere to be found, but an elderly man in a white lab coat is looking over a clipboard in the corner. He stares at them, thick-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose and coffee cup shaking in his hand. He stands up suddenly to rush towards a desk, but Andy raises her gun to his head. 

“I wouldn’t do that. Sit.”

The man sits back into his chair. Sweat collects in the last bit of wiry white hair still clinging to his temples. His coffee has spilled all over his crisp pants.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Andy scoffs. Joe lets his gun fall to his side as he digs into one of his pockets and reveals the same sketchbook page he showed Nile a few nights ago. He carefully unfolds the paper before shoving it in front of the man’s cherry-red nose.

“ _This_ man, where is he?” Booker can count on one hand how many times he’s heard Joe’s voice sound like that, dripping with nothing but bare malice. Even Booker is frightened by that tone coming from the gentle man. The doctor’s pale blue eyes widen almost comically when he focuses on the face in front of him.

“I don’t-”

“Please, do not lie to me. This is your final warning.”

“Listen, whatever he has done to you, I promise Mr. Merrick would be willing to compensate-” 

Joe shoves the paper back into his pocket and lifts the man by the collar of his coat, dangling him a couple of inches above his chair.

“I do not want to be compensated. I want to know where he is.”

The man clumsily grabs at Joe’s shirt sleeve, his Adam's apple bobbing with a painful swallow. “Mr. Merrick asked for him. I sent him up to the penthouse an hour ago.”

Joe drops him to the ground, and Andy shoots him in the head unceremoniously. 

“The penthouse. How many floors up is that, Booker?” 

“Fifteen.”

Booker places an explosive pack on the man’s desk and attaches a few to the shelves of samples on the wall. Worried voices suddenly begin clambering out of the radio. 

“Shit. We need to get moving,” Andy says. 

They slip out of the lab but are met with three armed guards in the hallway. One’s yelling into a radio.

“Fuck! Lock down Merrick!”

 _There goes their element of surprise._ Andy rushes forward, twisting one around by his gun barrel before shooting him in the back. She hits the yeller in the knee as the first goes down, letting Booker shoot him in the head as he stumbles towards the floor. Joe slices into the belly of the last one with his sword, taking a bullet to the shoulder in the process. 

“Any ideas?” Andy sighs. "Melbourne, '13?"

Joe looks out the window thoughtfully. “Sao Paulo, '34.”

Andy raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You sure?”

Joe lets out a rough imitation of a laugh. “Anything that gets me up there faster.” 

Andy nods, and Booker follows her down the hall. He glances back at Joe, who levels him a harsh look before turning away.

They make their way up the stairwell at a frustratingly slow pace. With guns pointed up, they shoot a couple of lackeys through the railings as they rush down toward the two of them. They take a few others out with close shots and the butts of their guns. Once they’ve made it up a few floors, Booker pulls out the detonator. Andy gives a nod of approval, and he pushes the button. The building rumbles briefly beneath their feet, lab and evidence hopefully destroyed. They keep moving forward.

By the time they’ve reached the top floor, they’re exhausted but more determined than ever. They wait by the door for the sound of Joe’s grand entrance inside, taking the brief moment to silently reload their weapons.

When they hear their cue, Andy and Booker burst through the doors together. There are already a few bodies littering the floor, and they each add a couple to that number before they both stop dead in their tracks.

Joe is on his knees. He has one hand raised in the air and tosses his gun to the floor with the other before they join together in an obvious sign of surrender. When Booker looks for who he’s speaking to, he’s stunned by the sight of Nicky striding towards Joe.

“Nicky, I’m not going to hurt y-” before Joe can finish, Nicky shoots him in the head. Aleast, Booker _thinks_ it's Nicky. He’s never seen Nicky look so rigid and emotionless. And despite how often they'd joke about it, he's certainly never seen Nicky kill Joe.

Joe's body slumps to the floor.

Might-be-Nicky turns toward them, and Andy quickly raises her gun to shoot. He knows Andy has no qualms with taking their friend down now to save him later, but Booker feels frozen to the spot. Nicky’s shoulder jerks back from the impact of Andy’s bullet, but he doesn’t wince or hesitate to shoot back. Before Booker is sure what’s happening, he shot in the head and down for the count.

\---

Booker wakes up with his hands tied behind him. With a low groan, he looks to his left to see Andy half sitting-up next to him. She’s freshly alive, but equally as tied up as him. Joe is a bit further away, still out cold on his back with his hands bound around his front. Including Nicky, there are now five heavily armored men surrounding them. There’s another man in the corner of the room, talking frantically on the phone. He’s smaller and lankier than the other men, dressed in an obnoxious hoodie-sport coat combo instead of a bullet-proof vest and cargo pants. He must be the boss.

Copley is also here, much to Booker’s disgust. He’s standing off to the side in a suit, arms crossed but still managing to look blanched and weary. Booker follows Copley’s anxious gaze to where Nicky is standing.

He takes the moment to get a good look at Nicky, just to make sure he’s really _him_. He’s in the center of the room, wearing all-black tactical gear and heavy boots. There’s a large gun secured to him with a thick strap. His hair looks unwashed and hastily cut, longer than it was in the ‘40s. There’s a bit of blood splatter on one of his stubble-covered cheeks. His deep-set eyes are cavernous, irises drained of all color and eerily vacant. His whole body is tense, his spine deathly straight. This is his friend Nicky, but this is also a complete stranger. He’s quite terrifying to look at, so Booker looks away.

Their leader finally puts away his phone and strides towards the group. As the man approaches, Nicky tenses and adjusts the gun on his shoulder, vaguely pointing it in Andy’s direction. 

The man shakes his hands dramatically in front of him. “Together, we will do such things- what they are yet I know not, but they shall be the terrors of the earth. Or um, rather the saviors.”

No response.

“Lear? Shakespeare?”

Booker doesn’t know _what the fuck_ this guy is talking about, but he doesn’t really care. He’s busy looking around the room for a possible weapon. There’s the obvious guns and knives strapped to several people, but he doubts he’d get close enough for that, not with so many fingers resting on triggers. There’s a chair. There’s a letter opener on a desk. There’s an ugly piece of art on a pedestal. None of it within reach. _Putain de merde, they’re so screwed._ He looks over at Andy again. She’s seething, hair covering one of her glowering eyes. She ignores the men in front of her in favor of examining the hallways and windows with scrutiny, likely looking for an exit. Booker realizes then that Joe is finally awake. He’s looking at Nicky like he’s a miracle with unshed tears in his wide eyes.

“ _Nicolò,_ ” Joe utters the name like a broken plea. Nicky does not look at any of them, his stare fixated on something unseen over Andy’s head, but Booker catches the smallest movement of his hands as Nicky tightens the grip on his gun.

The man ignores Joe and keeps talking.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot, I apologize. Despite what it looks like, I’m truly honored to meet you. My name is Steven Merrick, youngest CEO in pharma,” he proudly proclaims like it means anything to them. “My company brought a cancer drug to market last quarter, that has already saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Yet, in development it killed a quarter of a million lab mice," Merrick says as he gestures to Nicky. “It even killed your friend here a few times before we ironed out all the bugs. I didn’t ask for the mice’s permission, I didn’t ask for his, and I certainly won’t ask for yours.”

“Nicky isn’t a mouse.”

Merrick laughs like he and Joe are sharing a secret. “Yes. I’m well aware. He’s provided many other services for us as well.”

Joe then tries speaking to Nicky in a language Booker doesn’t understand. Nicky starts to turn his head, but Merrick snaps his fingers and Nicky looks at him instead. The corners of Merrick’s mouth curl up just a bit more like he’s entertained by an animal’s simple trick. It’s an obvious display of control, and Booker knows instantly that they will not leave this building until that man is dead.

“Now, I’m well aware of your group's unique talents. There’s genetic code inside each of you that will help every human being on earth. I feel we’re morally obliged to take it, and I have carved slices off of him for years to get it. You may have damaged a few of our labs, but with you three to assist our future research, the potential for advancement is unfathomable.” 

Merrick makes a motion with his hand, and the few guards lining the room begin to move forward. One grabs Andy’s elbow as she shouts, and Booker tries to throw another off of his shoulder. Merrick whispers orders into Nicky’s ear. He begins walking towards the elevator. 

" _Nicolò_. Nicky, my heart.” Joe, hands still bound together at the wrists, grabs the pant fabric covering Nicky’s ankles as he walks past him. To Booker’s horror, Nicky turns and kicks Joe in the teeth.

Joe’s head snaps to the side violently. He spits out blood onto the polished floors but quickly turns his head back. Blood drips from his lips and into his beard. “Nicky, you don’t want to do this. You know me. You know us.”

“No. I don’t,” Nicky replies without inflection.

“Nicolò, you’ve known me for centuries.” Nicky kicks him again, this time square in the chest. Booker hears a sickening crack of bone. Joe wheezes through his teeth, “Your name is Nicolò di Genova.”

“Shut up.” The accent is certainly Nicky’s, but the words sound borrowed. Nicky kicks Joe again, his furrowed brow the only crack in his otherwise blank expression. 

Andy kicks out at the man still trying to yank her up. The man behind Booker forces him to his feet, and he headbutts him in the chin without looking away from Joe and Nicky.

“Nicky, listen to me.” Joe grimaces with pain but doesn’t take his eyes off Nicky’s face. “You’re the stars in my sky. And the sun that lights my days.”

“Stop talking.”

“You’re the moon when I’m lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold. Nicky-”

Nicky swings his gun on its strap until it rests against his back. He surges down to Joe’s level, grabs him by the collar, and slams his head into the hard floor- all in one swift motion. Joe gasps in pain but doesn’t flinch away when Nicky kneels into his chest, crushing his still-healing ribs with his knee. Nicky punches him, bare knuckles colliding with fragile cheekbone, but Joe doesn’t stop.

“Your kiss still thrills me even after a millennia. I know your heart, it overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy of.”

Nicky contradicts this with a punch to the other side of Joe’s head. Somewhere, distantly, Andy is screaming.

Tears leak from Joe’s eyes in steady little streams. “I love you. I love you beyond measure and reason.” 

One of Joe’s eyes is swollen shut and his nose bleeds freely. Nicky grabs a fistful of Joe’s hair and slams his head into the floor once more. 

Joe still doesn’t stop, although his words slur slightly as he whispers, “You’re all, and you’re more.”

Suddenly, Nicky goes still, his head bowed over Joe. There’s no sound or movement in the room except for Nicky’s labored breathing and heaving chest. Everyone is just staring at the pair of them, the whole room frozen in place.

Joe lifts his head off the floor, slowly closing the short distance needed to press their foreheads together.

“Nicky?”

“ _Sono qui._ ” His voice is small, almost not there at all. 

A gunshot shatters the silence. Joe and Nicky’s bodies crumble forward like ragdolls tossed to the floor. A single bullet tethers them together, entering through the back of Nicky’s head and finding its home in Joe’s. From where Booker is standing, he can see Joe’s face painted with Nicky’s blood and brain matter.

Merrick, backed to the corner of the room, now steps forward. He smooths out his shirt and fixes his hair, pretending he wasn’t shaken by the scene in front of him.

“You’re late, Mr. Keane.”

A man steps out of the elevator and peels Nicky’s body from Joe’s by the weapon strapped across his chest. He looks around the blood-splattered penthouse.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Well, the others have been found. And he broke, _again_.” 

The tall man, Keane, pulls zip-ties out of his pockets and ties Nicky’s hands behind his back. “ _Christ_. We’ll take him to Dr. Kovak for more reconditioning, scramble his damn brains this time if we have to.”

Andy growls and nearly breaks free of the lackey’s grip on her, but Booker can only stand and watch as Keane drags Nicky’s body into the elevator. A short man in a lab coat passes one of the guards a set of syringes. He plunges a needle into Andy’s neck, and she soon goes limp in his arms.

“Mr. Merrick, you have to see now that none of this is right.”

Booker looks up at Copley. They make accidental eye contact, causing Copley to cringe away. His eyes are wet and his head shakes ever so slightly. _Huh, so maybe he didn’t know_. _At least there’s that._

“I’m done with you trying to tell me what’s right and what’s wrong, Mr. Copley. We don’t stop.” He pushes past Copley and approaches Joe, who’s just come back to life with a desperate gasp. Joe immediately starts struggling against the guards, snarling and shouting at them in a dozen ancient languages. Merrick keeps his distance but tilts his head to the side in interest.

“Look at you. You’re a bloody mess.” He leans down, placing his hands on his knees like he’s talking to a small child. Merrick’s smile, however, is full of venom. “If you behave, I might let you see your boyfriend again.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Joe sobs. He stops fighting before the needle pierces his neck.

Just before Booker is sedated, he and Copley make eye contact one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Also, sorry for the update.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


	6. No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile might be fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I didn't plan on leaving y'all hanging for so long after that last chapter! Really sorry about that. Finals season drug me through the mud and then life just kept happening and wouldn't stop haha. I've also really been struggling to make this piece, especially this chapter, something I was proud to post. Still not sure we're there but, hey, at least there's an update! 
> 
> Also please note the added emetophobia tag. There's nothing too descriptive here, but there's certainly more talk about it in this chapter than others.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.

When Nile was five years old, she discovered she was a nervous vomiter. To her family’s great pride, she had been cast as one of the shepherds' sheep in her church’s annual Christmas pageant. Unfortunately, there were far more people in the pews opening night than there had been during rehearsals. Nile found herself frozen to the stage. One moment she was looking out into the audience for her parents, her whole body shaking and eyes wide, and then before she knew what was happening there was vomit running down the front of her wool costume. Her dad had carried her out of the church and down the block, a hand pressed to her forehead as Nile’s mom called the pediatrician. Turns out she wasn’t sick, it just _happens_ sometimes.

When things get really confusing or overwhelming, Nile’s traitorous body attempts to purge the anxiety from her body. A wave of nausea comes first, next her hands will shake, and then her whole body follows suit. It happened on the first day of kindergarten and before big tests in school. It happened before a championship game and on a field trip to the Art Institute right in front of the tourists observing the large Seurat. Sometimes just the knowledge that she _might_ vomit pushed her over the edge. She eventually found ways to prevent it, or at least to stave off the puking until she could find a bathroom. When the nausea starts, Nile bows her head like her mother showed her and asks God for courage, for peace, for clarity, for some _quiet_. Sometimes she prays for nothing at all, she just starts talking to God like she would talk to her dad or little brother. Those childish prayers worked well enough. Usually by the time she whispered _amen_ her stomach would be calmer, her shoulders a bit lighter.

But praying didn’t always help. It didn’t help the night before her father was deployed, and in the weeks after as she laid in her mom’s bed and worried about him. It didn’t help the day her father was killed and in the many days leading up to the funeral. Nausea rolled in Nile’s belly as she watched her mom take the folded flag into her hands, bright white and blue against black gloves. Slipping out the back door of the sanctuary, Nile ran down the dark halls until she found a bathroom. Dropping to her knees, she retched into the toilet, fingers gripping the bowl in desperation, her bony knees tugging on the edges of her black dress. Her older cousin, Talitha, found her eventually. She sat on the green tile floor and rubbed Nile’s back until she was done. Eventually, Talitha slipped a pair of cheap headphones over Nile’s ears and handed her some bunched up toilet paper to wipe her face. The black foam material of the headphones itched her ears, but the music Talitha played was soothing and distracting. Nile closed her eyes and just listened, letting the urge to be sick fade away.

Nile got referred to the middle school counselor eventually. Even sixth grade Nile could tell that Ms. Crosley, _Jody_ as she wanted to be called, was just out of graduate school, overworked, and way out of her depth. Nile would go in once a week to sit on a stained bean bag and listen to Jody talk abstractly about _grief_ and _healing_. There were probably a dozen other kids at her south Chicago middle school who also got referrals but never bothered showing. Nile often considered bailing too, but she always showed up anyway because Jody let her throw up in the nurse’s bathroom, and sometimes she actually had helpful things to say. Like when she taught her a clever truck to relax her body, ease the anxiety, and ground herself. If praying or music didn’t work, Nile learned to tense and then relax each muscle group, starting at the toes and working up to her neck and shoulders.

The prayers, the relaxation exercises, the music, they all helped. She prayed at her desk while a procter handed out scantrons. She wiggled her toes in her sneakers while reciting Shakespeare in English class. She danced backstage in her cap and gown right before graduation.

Basic training helped too, the structure, the routine, the clear expectations. She always had something to do, a task to complete. Nile excelled. As long as she had something to focus on, something that propelled her forward, she was fine. She hadn’t puked her guts out since she got mono from Teagan Simmons junior year.

And then she died.

Nile died. She knows she died. She felt herself die, but then suddenly she was alive. That alone was enough to send her stomach churning, but then there were the stares. The conversations dying when she walked into the room. The heads swiveling to catch a look at her unblemished neck. Nile tasted bile on her tongue. She had to find a place to pray, to listen to music, to relax, to do _anything_ to calm herself down, to get a _grip,_ to figure this out.

And then a strange woman knocked her unconscious and shoved her in the back of a truck.

With her head spinning and mind reeling, Nile threw up in the sand. And then Andy said she had answers. Nile had a million questions, so Nile trusted Andy as much as she needed to at the time. It wasn’t very much, and she wasn’t too thrilled about it, but she eventually trusted her. So Nile got back in that truck and then into a _plane_ with the strange woman and she _still_ had no real answers. All she could think to do was pray. She prayed for courage and clarity and then picked something to focus on. She focused on turning the plane around. When that didn’t work, she fought Andy and then wished desperately for her earbuds, or maybe just her family, as her bones sunk back under her skin.

She prayed that trusting Andy was the right choice. She prayed for a lot of things as they flew towards France.

Unlike Andy, Nile trusted Joe almost instantly. Sure, he was still a complete stranger and an immortal warrior to boot, but that first night, he offered her decaf coffee and showed her a warm bed to sleep in. He also wears his emotions on his sleeve. Nile likes that about him. His warm smiles and hearty laughs always seem just as genuine as his sorrowful eyes and quiet tears. Andy’s genuine too, but in her own way. She says what she means, and although sometimes her answers are cryptic, it's never to the questions with a clear answer. Despite their first meeting involving far too many bullets and broken bones for her liking, she eventually trusts Andy. Booker is another story. He doesn’t necessarily hide, but he stays on the outskirts of conversations so he doesn’t have to. He nearly betrayed the other two, but also helped them fight off their attackers in France. The others were angry with him, but they also trusted him enough to include them in their rescue plans. That’s enough for Nile at the moment.

So she trusts them, she breathes, she prays, and she clenches her fists to force down any anxiety that struggles it’s way to the surface. She doesn’t have much time for it right now, she needs to focus. There's too much to take in, to understand.

As she and Joe walked to a corner store in Dunkirk, Nile pulled out her phone to check the time. The image of her brother and mother stared back at her. The past few days have seemed like nothing more than a strange and confusing dream, but seeing the two of them on her lock screen made her realize it’s all _real_. It was like seeing something in a dream that takes you out of it, or seeing special effects so bad you can no longer suspend your disbelief- except the exact opposite. Seeing them, knowing they were out there right now, snapped everything around her into reality.

Joe saw her expression fall and asked if that was her family, and she said it was. He asked about them and so she told him. He asked questions with genuine interest, and she answered them gladly. She showed him pictures. Told him stories.

God. She already missed them so much. She didn't realize she had said that out loud until Joe was hugging her from the side.

“Did you miss them? Your family?” Nile asked as they walked into the store.

And so Joe told her about his sisters, his mother, his father. With subtle glances to the woman reading a magazine behind the counter, he quietly told her about how when he drew up arms to defend Jerelusam, he’d already accepted that he likely would never be going back home. But yes, he still missed them greatly. 

“Even now, I still miss them. But with time, their edges have faded in my mind, and the grief is no longer so sharp.” He stared down at the bag of chips in his hands. “I won’t lie to you, Nile. Losing people gets easier, but it takes a lot of time. And in that time, grief can consume you.”

Nile understood what he meant. Her mom wasn’t herself in the years after her dad died, but she eventually found her way back. Grief didn’t hang so heavy around Nile anymore either. Sometimes, she felt guilty that the thought of her dad’s death no longer brought her to her knees. But to Joe, a lot of time wasn’t a few years, it probably wasn’t even a few decades.

Nile was struck once again by the same realization she had several hours ago. These people are _old_. The world was a different place when they were born, and not in the way the world was different when her parents were born. Excluding Andy, Joe was currently living among a set of people entirely different from the ones that saw him as a child, teenager, a young man. Was the world they stood in now unrecognizable to the world Joe once knew? How different would the world be when she was Joe’s age? How different would she be? She felt vomit rising in her throat. _Deep breaths, Nile. Focus._

“You need to do what you think is right for _you_ , Nile,” Joe told her.

Nile turned to look at him fully. He looked like he might cry, tears budding at the corner of his wide eyes. Nile wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Don't let,” Joe looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears not to fall. “Don’t let anyone tell you how you need to process this. This is your life. It will be a long one, but it’s still yours. And family is- Family is important. If you want it to be.” He paused briefly and placed a plastic-wrapped pain au chocolat back on the shelf. “Nicky believed- _I_ believe we’re all meant to be together. We’ve all been given this life, these dreams, this family for a reason. But that doesn’t mean you’re stuck with us, yeah? Doesn’t mean you don’t get a choice in this.”

Nile nodded, the tightness in her throat fading slightly. “Okay.”

Although they were still inside, Joe slipped on a pair of sunglasses then, hiding his watery eyes from view. She reached out to place a hand on his forearm. He put his own hand over hers with a smile. He had a nice smile.

“Come. We should get back to the others.”

As Joe paid for their food with a few crumpled euros, Nile chatted with the woman behind the counter about the weather. It was the most boring conversation Nile had for days, and she was thankful for it.

“Your French is excellent,” Joe told her as they stepped out of the store, bags in hand. “Do you speak any other languages?”

“I also know Spanish, but that’s about it if we’re talking fluency,” Nile replied with a shrug. Joe let out a low whistle.

“Impressive,” Joe said, jostling her with his shoulder playfully, “for an American.” 

“Hilarious,” Nile replied with a roll of the eyes. “I guess now I have plenty of time to learn all kinds of languages. That should be fun.”

She had meant to match his light tone, but her voice sounded hollow to even her own ears. The corner of Joe’s mouth tightened.

“That’s true.” He sounded like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. They kept walking. When the port came into view, Joe finally said it.

“Nile, I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you came to us at such a strange time. Normally we are _much_ more fun.”

“Really?”

“Andy will have to tell you about the time Nicky snuck her back into the colosseum.”

“ _Back_ into the colosseum?”

Joe just winked in reply, and Nile laughed. They laughed the entire way back to Booker and Andy. As they crossed the Channel together, Nile prayed before making up her mind. She still had a few years with her family, and she was going to use them. 

Family is important.

So eventually she speaks up, takes the car and an antique sword, drives to Guildford station, buys a train ticket, and waits in the car for her early morning departure time. As the light fades from the sky, she falls asleep with the hope that her dreams reveal Joe, happy and smiling, through Nicky’s eyes.

_If only._

She wakes up shivering cold and sweltering hot all at once and immediately throws open the car door to puke on the pavement. She _feel_ s it. She feels his fear and confusion and bone-deep exhaustion as if it were her own. She feels Nicky fighting against what’s happened to him, fighting against _Joe_. Her headaches, like her memories and emotions and thoughts are going through a dull cheese grater. She closes her eyes and tries to forget the dream, tries to gather the will to get on that train, but the image of Joe’s broken smile and blood-mixed tears play on repeat against the back of her eyelids, the sound of Andy’s shouts ringing in her ears. She can still feel herself crushing Joe’s ribs with a weight that is not her own. _Joe_ , who made her laugh and complimented her French and almost cried next to prepackaged pastries because he missed Nicky.

There's no telling what's happening to them now.

So she forgets about the ticket in her pocket and starts the car. She drives as quickly as she can back into London, the streetlights blurring past as she rushes towards the city. It’s only once the building is in sight that she realizes she has nothing but a small handgun and a longsword she quite doesn’t know how to use. As she parks on the street, she wonders if all those years spent dueling her brother with a plastic lightsaber will be of any help. _Probably not. Shit._ She doesn’t even know where in the building they are. She wishes she still had Booker's blueprints. _This is your worst idea yet, Freeman._ Something tells her to turn back, go see her family before she loses that chance forever. But she can’t. She can’t leave them like this, even if it means she’ll never hear her mom’s voice again.

Except, well. It’s still the twenty-first century. There’s no good reason she can’t do both.

She pulls out her phone and dials her mom before she can think any better of it. After only half a ring, the line picks up.

“Nile?” Sleep is still thick in her mother’s voice, and Nile suddenly remembers it’s still the middle of the night in Illinois. At least word of her injury- her _death_ \- hasn't reached Chicago yet. There's no way her mother would be sleeping if that were the case. Nile wonders when they'll tell her mom she went AWOL.

She tries her best to sound calm, casual. “Sorry, I forgot about time zones, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” Nile doesn’t even know why she tried. Of course her mom could tell, she can always tell.

“Nothing,” she lies. “I just missed you. Wanted to let you know that, is all.”

“Well, I miss you too. Me and your brother both. But you know, you’ll be home this time next year! I’m looking forward to that, being together again.”

“Yeah, me too. I miss you guys so much. How’s Jordan?”

“Good! Good. Drives me crazy.”

Nile laughs. “Glad _someone’s_ doing my job while I’m gone.”

Her mother laughs softly in reply, and Nile clutches the phone closer to her cheek, trying to commit to memory the cadence of that laugh. 

_I'm sorry_ , she wants to say, _for what I'm about to do to you. "_ How’s the new house?”

“Drafty. I’m having Jordan come look at the windows this weekend. And you know, I was thinking the other day, there’s a spot over the dinner table that would be perfect for a painting. You’ll have to pick one out for me when you’re on leave. You know I don’t have your eye for that kind of stuff.”

“I can do that. Any ideas?”

“I’m sure whatever you pick will be perfect.”

“Alright. I’ll get to thinking. Well… I should let you get some rest. I love you. Tell Jordan I love him too when you talk to him next.” 

“Of course, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. I love you too.”

She hangs up and has no time to feel the enormity of her longing because there’s a man in a car across the street that she recognizes. His cabin light dimly illuminates his face, but she knows him from the dreams. She saw flashes of him, in a van, in a lab, in a glistening office. At least she hopes it’s the same man, what she’s about to do next will be terribly stupid if he’s not.

She’s never interrogated someone, but there’s a first time for everything. With a small prayer sent up to God, Nile jumps out of the car and cuts across the street, gun tucked into her jacket pocket. She moves swiftly into the man’s passenger seat, pulling the gun on him as he startles. He puts his hands up in the air without being asked. 

“Where are they?”

“Who are you?”

Honestly? She’s still wondering the same thing at this point, but there isn’t much time now for explanations, anyone walking past could see them. So she reaches behind her, pops open the car door, and sticks her fingers through the crack. She quickly slams the door shut with as much force as she can muster, crushing her fingers with a pained grunt. The man's eyes only grow wider. After slipping her hand back in the car and shutting the door fully, she raises the broken fingers in front of the man’s shocked face. They watch together in fascination as the bones in her fingers begin to shift back into place.

“You’re another one.”

“Yeah. I’m new,” Nile says, returning her healed hand back to the gun pointed at him. “Where are they?”

“Inside,” He says, gesturing to the building with his chin. “Merrick’s keeping them for _testing_.” He says the last word like it’s not quite the right one.

“So he can take them apart, figure out how they work?”

The man nods. “Merrick, he cares about their immortality, not what they’ve done with it.”

“What they’ve done with it?”

He shakes his head again, like he’s searching for an explanation just out of his reach. “My name is James Copley-”

“Oh. _You’re_ the one that set them up.”

“Yes. I’ve- For the past few years I’ve been doing research on all of them.” Nile’s hard look makes him continue. “I’ve traced them throughout history. You can thank Andromache for the early detection of diabetes, Joe and Nicolas for the eradication of smallpox, Sebastian for the invention of solar energy-”

“Yeah, I think you’ve got the wrong guys.”

“No, no. They didn’t invent them, but because of their actions, someone else could. They save a life, two, three generations we reap the benefits. They’ve been helping people for hundreds- _thousands_ of years. It has ripple effects on all of humanity.”

 _Okay. Damn. Let’s process_ that _later-_ wait _._ “You knew all this and still gave them up?” She thinks back to what Booker had said in the car as they fled Goussainville. “So you could what? End disease?”

Copley’s face crumples. He makes an attempt to regain his composure before speaking. “She couldn’t talk… at the end. My wife. She couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything.” He looks to the building beside them, to the large _Merrick_ on the side of the tower. “It was supposed to be a gift to the world.”

“It wasn’t your gift to give.”

Copley hangs his head. “It was wrong of me. They shouldn’t be locked up or used for _anyone’s_ personal benefit. I didn’t think it would be like this, honest. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Yeah? What was your plan?”

“Sneak my way in, hope they don’t kill me, sneak our way out. And your plan?”

Nile shrugs, the plan on her end mostly involved _getting here_ and then _saving them_. Everything in between she could figure out along the way. “Fight my way in, hope I don’t get captured, fight our way out.”

Copley considers something for a moment. “There’s a hidden corridor that leads into the building. Merrick uses it to slip people in and out unseen. No cameras. If you enter through there, you could take the maintenance elevator straight down to where they’re holding them.”

Nile raises an eyebrow, suspicion suddenly rising. “Down? Booker said the labs are on the thirty-fifth floor.”

He laughs stiffly. “Well, they destroyed the thirty-fifth floor the other night. They’re being held in a couple of storage units in the basement while an older lab is prepped for their,” Copley gestures vaguely with one hand, “experiments. _Torture_.” There’s the word he was looking for.

“Alright.” There’s a brief pause as Nile finally lowers her gun and Copley lowers his hands. “Is Nicky with them?”

It feels weird to use that name here, with this man. It’s a name for a friend, a brother. Neither of them even _know_ him, but she can’t bring herself to use Nicolas or Nicolò because he’s _Nicky_ to Joe, Andy, and Booker. He’s a friend and brother who has been stolen from them, and she won’t let this man forget it.

Copley shakes his head. “No. It would be too risky to hold them all together, even if they’ve already managed to wipe him again. From what I’ve gathered, they normally store him in a secret facility on the fortieth floor. It’s much more secure. Hopefully, Merrick hasn’t deactivated my clearance card yet. I’ll go up and get him myself while you get the others.”

“No offense, but out of the two of us _I’m_ the one walking out of there one way or another.”

“With you causing a distraction in the basement, I can probably get to him undetected.”

Nile scoffs. “Yeah. _Probably_.” 

Copley gives her a look that says _I'm doing this whether you like it or not_. “I have to make this right.”

“You dying won’t do that.”

“As soon as Merrick gets word of you in the basement, he’ll lock Nicky down or ship him off. You won’t get to him. Go for Nicky first, and the others get put away. There’s no other way to do this than together.” 

Nile sighs and briefly considers other options. There are none. “Fine. Okay. We’ll do this together. How many shooters on site?”

“Typically, there are at least thirty guards, but due to the others’ handiwork, they’re experiencing some staff shortages. I’m not sure how many are left. Their boss, Keane, is ex-special forces. He’s also Nicky’s handler.” 

“What kind of CEO rolls around with his own personal army?”

“These days? Most of them.”

“And the brainwashed immortal bodyguard?”

“I’m not sure I’ve seen _that_ one before.” Copley gestures to the gun in Nile’s hands. “I have more weapons in the boot.”

“Fantastic.”

After discussing a flimsy plan, Nile goes back to her own car. She straps Nicky’s sword around her waist and adjusts it straps while Copley collects his things. After they make it through the hidden corridor, he hands her the large bag of guns. She drops it to the floor to rummage through, eventually taking her pick and loading them expertly before handing Copley a few of his own. The rest of the weapons go back in the bag before she slings it over her shoulder.

“I need you to know that I didn’t know about Nicky. Sebastian told me he was dead, I didn’t think he’d be here.”

She looks up at Copley and gives him a nod of understanding. It’s been fairly clear that no one expected Nicky to be here.

He hands her a small radio. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have him. If everything goes to plan, we’ll meet at the car.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Just get yourselves out of here.”

He shows her to an elevator and then there’s nothing to do but get in. As the blue numbers on the elevator display tick down, Nile takes a deep breath and wiggles her toes. She squares her shoulders and knows that whatever she must do in the next few minutes, she’s doing for her family. 

When the doors open, she steps through.

Nile’s eyes quickly adjust to the basement’s gray-blue shadows as she takes in the expanse of concrete and exposed pipes. The industrial lights overhead cast a soft sheen on the floor and large concrete pillars. As Nile creeps forward, she checks behind each one, trigger finger curled at attention. She overhears a few echoing voices just ahead and readies for a fight as she turns the corner.

There are three guards. One is leaning against a pillar with his weapon hanging at his side as another spins a ring of keys on his finger while fiddling with an earpiece. Only one as a gun in his hands.

“Hey! You can’t be down here!”

Three quick headshots and all three are down. Quickly, she grabs the keys that fell to the floor and searches the bodies, pocketing all three ID cards before taking a deep breath and moving forward.

She passes aisles of machines covered in tarps, stacked paper boxes, and old office furniture. As she walks deeper, she spots rows of covered chain wire cages, not unlike the ones in the basement of her old apartment complex, tall and enclosed by sturdy welding and heavy tarps. There’s another group of guards walking towards her. They spot her the same time she spots them. Nile ducks behind a nearby concrete column as they fire on her with confused shouts. 

Chunks of concrete go flying as a hail of bullets riddle the pillar with cavities. Once there’s a lull in gunfire, Nile bolts across to another pillar, firing as she runs. Angled around the corner for cover, she takes the last one out as he reloads.

Aside from the lingering echoes of gunshots, the basement is quiet. She listens, reloads, and waits a moment for any hidden shooters to reveal themselves. As she listens, Nile barely makes out the sounds of a whispered exchange from somewhere among the cages. Booker and Andy.

Nile rushes down the rows, checking each cell as she goes.

She finds Joe’s door first. He’s sitting on the concrete floor, leaning against the wire walls of the kennel. His hands and feet are chained together, but the chains don't look entirely necessary. His eyes are half-lidded, his expression is dazed, and his movements are sluggish.

“Nile?” He whispers, voice raspy and raw. “How-”

Using the keys she lifted from the guard’s body, she makes quick work of the padlock and swings the door open with a ringing _clink_. Falling to her knees, she unchains him, takes a gun from her pack and presses it into his hands. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Nicky?” He asks as she helps him stand.

“Copley’s finding him.”

 _“What?”_ She hears Andy call from down the row, followed by the sound of Booker softly swearing.

“It’s a long story, but he’s with us. Come on.” Once Nile is sure Joe can stand on his own, she makes her way to Booker’s cell next, unchaining and arming him as fast as she can. 

He sighs and shuffles to his feet. “Thanks for saving our ass, Nile.”

“Yeah, my pleasure.”

Andy’s cell is at the very end of the row. She’s standing restlessly by the door, waiting for Nile to twist in the key.

“Where’s Copley?” she demands as soon as she has a gun in her hands. 

“He’s finding Nicky now. He’ll radio me once he’s got him out.”

“Do you trust him?” Andy asks as they make their way back to the others. There’s no judgment in her voice, but her eyes are scrutinizing. Nile looks to the end of the row, where Joe and Booker are standing back to back with guns raised, each taking a corner to sweep.

“I think we have to right now.”

“Okay.” Whatever Andy sees satisfies her, because she smiles and squeezes the back of Nile’s neck. Nile then looks between Joe and the others, noticing Andy and Booker don’t look as out of it as Joe did.

“Sedatives,” Andy answers her question before Nile asks. “A lot of them. Sometimes it takes a while to flush drugs out.” She then looks to Joe with carefully controlled concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Joe replies. There’s dried blood covering his chin and neck, and bits of flesh still cling to his curls. Nile has to take in a deep breath to suppress a bit of vomit when she realizes those little white flecks in his beard are probably skull fragments. **“** Let’s go.”

As they navigate out of the basement’s long aisles and back to the elevator, Nile calls Copley over the radio. “Copley, I’ve got the others. We need an update.” There’s no response. After a moment, she tries again. “Copley, _update_.” He still doesn’t answer. Nothing but radio static on the other end. She checks the time. He should be up there by now. _Unless something went terribly wrong._

They all stop short of the elevator. No one needs to say that they’re not leaving this building without Nicky.

“Shit,” Andy hisses. “Did he tell you what floor Nicky was on?”

“Yeah. Fortieth. Said it was more secure than the labs.”

“There’s nothing on that floor. The blueprints showed-” Booker shakes his head with a disbelieving laugh. “Nothing. The blueprints showed nothing but empty rooms. That probably should have been a clue, right?”

Andy waves his self-deprecation from the air. “We know where to go now.”

“The blueprints didn’t show this elevator shaft either,” Booker draws out. “I don’t know what we’ll find on the other side.”

“Only one way to find out,” Andy says as she opens the doors. They all step inside and Andy presses the button with the silver _40_ , the doors shutting behind them. The elevator makes its way up silently. Nile tries her hardest not to imagine who or what needs to be transported in a secret lift.

All of their weapons are drawn in anticipation when the doors slide open to reveal a small, empty room.

“What the fuck,” Andy sighs.

The room has sleek gray walls and white tile floors. There’s nothing inside but a large metal door next to a card reader and screen embedded in the wall. Andy steps out first and clears the left side while Booker checks the right. There isn’t much to check, really. The room is unsettlingly tiny and uninteresting. Nile doesn’t even see cameras. There’s a yellow sign taped to the door informing any visitors and staff that the fortieth floor offices have been closed for remodeling, and to direct any inquiries about the location of other departments to the information desk in the first floor lobby.

Nile’s gut tells her the sign is as close to a “ _trespasser will be shot_ ” as they’ll find here.

As Nile investigates the keypad, Joe moves to the door. He runs a hand along the seam and sticks his fingers into the small crevasse serving as a handle. He gives it a good tug, but predictably nothing budges.

Andy and Booker move to stand beside Nile, looking over her shoulders at the small black screen in the wall. Nile takes one of the stolen ID cards from her pocket and swipes it. The screen lights up to ask for a five-digit code.

Nile grimaces. “A secret password? What kind of supervillain shit is this?”

“No. Enough of this,” Andy scoffs, pointing her gun at the keypad. “Nile, step aside.”

_Well, that's not going to help anything._ “Wait, Andy! Wait. Let me try something first. Booker, what do you know about Merrick?”

Booker shrugs. “Youngest CEO in pharmaceuticals, probably a sadist, shit taste in office decor, quotes Shakespeare like some English student prat-”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yeah?”

“A Shakespeare fanboy who wants to use your immortality,” Nile muses. Suddenly her brain makes a leap she can’t even explain. It’s too crazy. Mrs. Bullen’s tenth grade English class. A droning class reading of _Antony and Cleopatra_. Nile was cast as Cleopatra because Mrs. Bullen thought it would be funny. Act 5. Scene 2. Her lines. What was it?

“ _I have immortal longings in me_ ,” she whispers before quickly typing _52330_. 

“There’s no way-” Andy starts before the keypad beeps and they all turn towards the faint hissing of hydraulics releasing next to Joe. The door is open. “Holy shit.”

“Cleopatra dies in that scene,” Joe observes with the faintest grin as he pulls the door open.

"Doubt he read that far."

Nile marvels at the size of the door, nearly a foot thick. It’s clearly designed to ensure people keep out. Or to keep people in. 

“Let’s get this motherfucker." Andy pushes through the door as the others follow close behind.

The door snaps shut behind them with another mechanical hiss that makes Nile's stomach do a summersault. 

A dim corridor stretches out before them. As they dash forward, Nile studies the dozen or so heavy metal doors that line the hall, each one locked and imposing. There’s a card reader at each door and a unique series of letters and numbers stenciled under their narrow windows. _OS3, OS4, CL5, TS11._ Although they don’t stop to check any of the doors as they follow the sound of angry voices coming from somewhere down the hall, she catches Joe looking too.

The corridor abruptly meets another, splitting their path into two directions. The sound of heavy footsteps just around one corner of the perpendicular hall forces them to pause. Andy turns and gives a signal to Booker. She and Joe back up to one side of the hall, while Booker and Nile take the other. They wait for the pair of steps to get closer before Andy spins out of the corridor, grabbing one shooter by the front of his gear and twisting him around towards Booker. As Booker takes that first one down with a shot to the head, Andy shoots a second guard. Andy and Joe take the lead while Booker and Nile provide cover.

The shouting down the hall turns frantic. A door slams closed. With the sound of more guards approaching, they start running as fast as they can with guns drawn. Turning another sharp corner, there’s a group of shooters that fire on them immediately. Andy takes two out with an expert shot and a butt of her gun to the back of a man’s head. Nile takes a shot at another one, but Joe’s gun jams. He’s shot in the chest before Booker can move in front of him. Booker takes a bullet to the shoulder but takes down two more guards before Joe is operational again. Joe plucks another gun off a body, checks it, and discards his old one. They move forward.

As they advance around another corner, they’re met by more shooters. Some are crouched and waiting from behind an open door labeled _CL3_ while more advance forward. Behind them all, another man pushes Stephen Merrick around a corner, guarding his back.

Nile is amazed by the way they fight back seamlessly. Joe disarms and deposits a few for Nile to finish off. Booker guards Andy’s side as she knocks others to the floor. Nile hands them new clips and weapons as they need it. Andy shoots a man going for Joe’s back. It’s still not enough. When Booker makes it around the corner where Merrick was led through, he finds another elevator. It’s already going down. 

Booker shouts, “The elevator, Andy! He’s getting away!”

Andy turns to Joe, hands him another gun from a nearby body. “Joe, check the rest of the floor and find Nicky if he’s still here. We’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll help him,” Nile offers. 

Andy and Booker give them short nods before darting to an adjacent stairwell. Nile digs into her pocket and produces the guards’ ID cards, turning to hand one to Joe. He’s looking through the open doorway. His hands are shaking. When she peers in after him, she takes in the sight of a small lab. 

There are a few medical-looking machines she doesn’t recognize and a few distinctly non-medical-looking machines she doesn’t _want_ to recognize next to an operating table. She spots a few bloody rags near the head of the table and a couple of used instruments left on a rolling cart in the corner of the room. One of the machines has been left on, and a horrible whirring sound fills the room. It takes a moment for Nile to register the two dead bodies in the room. One is a guard dressed in a tight black shirt and kevlar vest like the rest of them. He’s leaning lopsided against the wall with a gunshot wound to the head. There’s also a blonde woman in a white lab coat on the floor. She’s lying face down in a pool of blood. The little bit of her face that Nile can see past her hair is crushed beyond recognition. Nile might not be able to suppress the vomit this time. _Deep breaths._

“We should go through and check behind all those doors. In case he’s still here,” Joe practically whispers, like he’s still trying to convince himself it’s the right thing to do.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re going to want to see what’s behind those doors. Let me try radioing Copley again.”

Joe puts a hand out. “Give me a card, Nile. Please.”

With great reservation, she places an ID in his hands. Together they retrace their steps, heading back down the dimly lit halls. For efficiency, Joe takes the doors on the right and Nile takes the ones on the left. She swipes inside each door and checks the rooms as quickly as possible. In between each door, Nile tries calling Copley on the radio. There’s no luck in either department.

Some doors open to simple operating rooms that stink of sterilizing agents. Others have strange contraptions, monitors mounted to the wall, and machines that could honestly be nothing other than torture devices. Another room has a large iron cage taking up most of the space and a wall of weapons chained to a wall. Others are half-empty as if being remodeled or having something new installed. Despite her prayers, Nicky isn’t in any of them.

Once the last of her doors is checked, Nile jogs back the other way and goes looking for Joe. She finds him in what looks to be an office. Papers and filing boxes clutter the top of a modern desk that sits in front of a wide window. Nile notes that this is the only window she’s seen on the whole floor.

Joe is standing in front of that window, but he’s not looking out. He’s staring down at a file in his hands. Nile walks up beside him, ensuring she makes enough noise to alert him of her presence.

“I thought you were going to see your family,” he asks with a little confusion. 

“I am,” Nile says simply, “eventually. You didn’t think I was going to just leave you guys here?”

Joe shakes his head with a small smile. He looks as exhausted as Nile feels. 

“Family is important, right? I guess mine just got a bit bigger.”

Joe turns to look at her, warm brown eyes wide and expressive. Nile looks back, offering him a smile in return. 

“You said I get a choice in this. Well, I want to choose both,” Nile says. She tags on, “If that’s an option.”

"Nile, _everything’s_ an option to you now.”

“Good. Because it looks like you guys are going to need my help,” Nile says, only somewhat in jest.

Joe smiles again with a surprised laugh. “It would seem so.”

"And I’ll need your help, too. This immortality business is-”

“Harder than we make it look, right?”

Nile’s eyebrows pinch together with a playful scoff. “I wouldn’t say-”

They both jump as the radio clipped to her bag comes to life. 

_“Nile, this is Copley. We ran into some trouble but he’s-”_

A weaseling voice from behind them obscures the rest of Copley’s breathless words.

“You little bitch.”

They turn to find Merrick holding a gun. Nile swiftly trains her own weapon on the man while Joe makes an attempt to reach for the gun he left on the desk behind of them.

“Don’t fucking move. One more move and I’ll put you both right back where you should be. Don’t think there’s not another team right outside waiting for you. Now, drop your weapons. Kick them to me.”

Neither of them move.

“I said drop them!”

After sharing a tired look with Joe, Nile drops her gun to the floor. She slides it across the floor with the toe of her boot.

“The bag too.”

Nile drops the bag and kicks it over.

“Good. See, was that so hard? Don’t you see what we could have done here, _together_ , if you weren’t so selfish? Your abilities make you all _priceless_. The things you could have done, for medicine, for the whole _world_ if you had just stayed put.” He laughs sardonically, waving his gun between the two of them. “And now _this_. Do you even understand what you’ve done? You think you’ve done the _right thing_ by breaking him out? He’s a killing machine, your little speech didn’t change that.”

Joe lets out a long, deep breath. The anger rolling off of him is palpable. 

From where it’s been kicked, the radio crackles again. _“Nile, are you there?”_

“I thought you’d all understand. Violence as a means to _peace_. It was all about the balance of things.” Merrick makes a disapproving sound with his tongue. “What a waste,” he laments. 

_Well. That’s enough of that._

"Man, shut the hell up."

Leaping forward, Nile grabs the short barrel of the gun. She tries to wrench the gun from his grip, but in his panic, Merrick fires sloppily. She takes two of the shots to the gut while other bullets shatter the window behind them. Nile falls hard into the floor, curled away from Merrick.

Although she was expecting it, she still can’t help but gasp at the hot, burning sensation in her stomach. As blood spills onto the tile and soon clots her wounds, she plays dead and lies still. The breeze streaming in from the broken window spreads goosebumps across her neck. With a glance at Joe from the floor, she tries to communicate an idea, looking pointedly to the open window and then back at him.

Miraculously, he understands. He raises his hands innocently and steps back toward the window. 

“Please don’t,” he begs, feigning helplessness.

Merrick advances on Joe. As he steps past Nile, she hooks her foot around Merrick’s angle and _pulls_. Joe steps out of the way as the man stumbles, trips, and falls out the open window.

A second or two later, there’s the dull crunch of metal from below. Joe looks over the ledge.

“There’s your balance, asshole," he mutters blithely.

Joe holds out a hand for Nile to grab onto and pulls her up with care. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, wincing as her skin knits together around the wounds, “I’ll be okay.”

“I hope that’s the last of the surprises,” Joe jokes as he jogs over to the discarded radio across the room. It is probably the worst thing he could have said, because in that moment a live grenade rolls through the door lands right at his feet.

\---

As she wakes up, Nile hears nothing but a high-pitched whine. Breathing deeply through the panic, she realizes she’s been deafened by an explosion and temporarily blinded by the resulting smoke. She winces at a sharp and burning pain in her side, but it soon recedes into the same dull ache blanketing the rest of her body. She reaches out to find Joe, but there’s nothing solid to hold onto. Her hand comes away slick and warm. There’s an unfamiliar tingling sensation in her inner ear as the clambering sounds of the room, muffled shouting and gunshots, slowly come into focus. She distantly thinks her eardrums must be healing. Hopefully, her eyes are not far behind.

She braces to feel a rain of bullets, but nothing hits her. Blinking debris from her eyelashes, she pushes herself up and takes a look around. There are men fighting just outside the door, donned in gas masks and riot gear, but they’re not advancing on her and Joe. Nile's unsteady gaze travels from the armed men down to the bodies littering the doorway and then back up to another figure in the hall.

Nicky.

Her vision is still too blurry to make out many details, but she knows instantly that it’s him. He’s wearing nothing but black sweatpants and blood-splattered scrubs. One of the men raises a gun to his head, but Nicky twists and snaps the man’s wrist before ripping off the gas mask. Nicky fires off his own handgun into the man’s face. Turning sharply, he lifts his leg up and hooks a knee around another man’s arm before flipping him head-first into the floor. The man's neck breaks on impact.

Nile turns back to reassess Joe. He’s sprawled out on the floor in pieces. The shirt he was wearing is in tatters, his chest exposed and raw like chewed up meat. His arms are unnaturally bent in several places, and there are significant parts of his legs missing. She crawls the short distance to him, even as she grimaces at the gore. There shouldn’t be any coming back from that kind of damage, but she shakes him anyway. She prays nine hundred-ish years is still _too new_.

“Joe. Joe, get up.”

After watching a piece of fatty tissue stretch across one of Joe’s exposed ribs, she sighs in relief. He’s healing, _slowly_ , but he’s healing.

With a few more rapid gunshots, the last two guards also drop to the floor. Nile looks to find Nicky already turned toward the pair of them. His face is stony, but in the small crease between his eyebrows Nile recognizes that confusion she felt earlier. A streak of partially-dried blood across his hairline drips down his brow to pool in the deep socket of one eye. Those eyes, piercing and focused, are honed in on Joe’s lifeless body. His breaths are shallow but his hands are steady as he moves towards them, stepping over the broken bodies he left on the floor. Nile stands slowly as he approaches. As much as she wants a happy reunion between the two men, she’s too aware of the wreckage surrounding them and the loaded gun in Nicky’s hands. She has no point of reference, no cues to go off of, just a clear sense of how dangerous this man could be if he doesn’t recognize Joe. Or worse, recognizes her as a threat. 

“Nicky?” She asks cautiously.

He looks up at her just as a dark figure steps around the corner behind him. The sound of boots on shattered glass is enough for his pale eyes to flash in recognition.

“Shit, I think you missed a spot,” Nile tells him.

Nicky tenses but doesn’t turn around.

“Stand down, Soldier,” the man says in a calm, commanding voice. He’s got a gun trained on the back of Nicky’s head. “Drop your weapon.”

Without hesitation, Nicky drops his gun to the floor at the order. Nile might be fucked.

“Are you ready to comply?”

Nicky slowly raises and outstretches his hands until they’re at his hips in a downward “V” of surrender. His eyes flick to the sword at Nile’s hip and then up to her face. “Yes.”

The man tips the barrel of his gun down as he turns his head to speak into a radio clipped to his shoulder. 

“Alpha 2-2, this is Keane. I’m securing the Asset now-” And then Nicky is moving in a flash. Nile lifts her arms up and out of the way as he lunges forward and unsheaths his own sword from the scabbard. Before Keane can put his finger back on the trigger, Nicky buries the sword in his chest. Keane gurgles and slumps into the blade, arms making an aborted attempt to grab at Nicky before falling lifelessly to his sides. Nicky presses the sword an inch deeper before removing it without flourish. He steps to the side as Keane falls forward into the floor.

He turns to Nile.

“No more spots,” he says flatly as he hands her back the bloody sword. It takes a moment for Nile to realize he’s actually making a joke.

She glances to one of the men on the ground whose neck is twisted at a grotesque angle, to the blood pooling on the floor, and to the bullet casings at their feet. 

“Yeah. You certainly cleaned up the place.”

She carefully slides the sword back into its sheath and watches him approach Joe’s body. Although he’s still very much dead, Joe’s legs have mostly regrown and his chest is thankfully more skin than exposed muscle now. Nicky crouches down and pets Joe’s cheek, his touch far gentler than he currently looks capable of. Lifting Joe into his arms, he stands and carries his body towards the elevator. Nile follows quickly behind and opens the lift’s doors. Once inside, Nicky carefully sets Joe onto the floor, cradling his head as he props him against the walls of the lift.

Nicky stands. In that same toneless voice he tells her, “Mr. Copley is waiting for you all at the car.” 

“Right. I-”

Joe’s hand twitches, and they both clock the movement instantly. Life flushes his cheeks, but he’s still out cold. Nile looks back at Nicky, expecting him to be relieved, but he only looks uncomfortable, like a trapped and skittish animal. His hands clench and unclench, like he’s restraining himself from reaching out. Or fighting. Or fleeing. Nile wishes Joe would wake up already. She tries not to feel like she’s stuck in an elevator with a ticking bomb.

“They’ll be glad to have you back,” Nile says as the display ticks down, down. 

That was obviously the wrong thing to say, because his face twists up in something resembling pain. Nile can’t figure out why. She forces herself to breathe deeply.

Once they get to the ground floor, the door dings open and Nicky says, “I’ll find you.” 

Nile isn’t sure who he’s talking to, so she replies, “We’re right here.”

“I’ll find you,” he repeats, gaze distant.

Nile wants to ask what he means, but just then she hears Andy yelling down the hall. She steps out of the elevator and turns toward the shouting. 

“Joe! Nile!”

“We’re over here!”

When Nile turns back to Joe and Nicky, all she finds is Joe, half awake and rubbing his cheek. Nicky is gone.

Andy and Booker come around the corner, running at full speed. 

“Well, we found Merrick downstairs eventually. Come on, we’ve got to move, before the cops show up and-” Andy takes in their tattered, debris-dusted clothing. “What the hell happened?”

“Grenades,” is all Nile finds herself saying.

Booker passes by her with a sympathetic noise and slings one of Joe’s arms around his shoulder, supporting him as he stands on shaky legs. Nile looks to either side, then back into the elevator. There’s still no sign of Nicky. With one glance back at Andy, Nile knows she was looking around for the same person too.

“I- Andy, I don’t- He was just here. He took out the guys who came in to recapture Joe and I and he got us down here but then- then he just vanished.”

They both look at Joe. He’s looking at them.

“Did he- what did he say?”

Nile shrugs helplessly. “He just said ‘I’ll find you.’ Joe, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright, Nile. Thank you.”

Andy quickly checks her magazine before clicking it in place and tucking the gun back into her pants. “I’ll go up and look-”

Joe reaches out and touches her wrist gently. “No, Andy. You’re right. We should leave before the police arrive.”

“Joe.”

“It’s okay, Andy. I trust Nicolò. If he said he will find us, then he will find us.” Joe takes his hand from Andy and places it on Nile’s shoulder. “Thank you again.”

Nile takes his hand and moves it to her other shoulder, supporting him as they stumble together out of the building. They climb into the car, Joe tucked between Booker and Nile in the back seat. His hands and shoulders start trembling as Copley drives them out of the city. Nile asks for the radio to be switched on, and Andy complies happily with some meaningful eye contact through the rearview mirror. The tune of some top forty pop hit fills the car, and Nile lets the tension in her body bleed out into the music. She places a hand palm up on her knee, and Joe takes the invitation, lacing their fingers together. He squeezes her hand with his eyes shut tight, head bowed against his chest. As the London streets disappear from view, Nile wonders if Joe is praying too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is mostly written, so the next update should be much faster than the last :) as always feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Also welcome to 2021 everybody! I hope this year is kind to all of you.


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